Chapter 84

Hard to Exterminate: the Discipline Upholds Perfect Awakening; The Law King Attains the Truth, His Nature Natural

The story tells how Tripitaka Tang, holding fast the primal yang, came out of the bitter toils of smoke and flowers, and followed the Pilgrim westward, unaware that summer had come. Just then the warm wind first stirred and the plum rain fell thread by thread—a fine prospect:

Green shade gathers thick and deep; the light wind, and the swallow leads her young.New lotus leaves turn on the pond's face; tall bamboos grow fresh and pliant.Fragrant grasses run green to the sky's edge; mountain flowers carpet the ground.By the brooks sweet flags stand like swords; the pomegranate's flame sets off the picture of the road.

The four of them, master and disciples, broiling in the heat, were on their way when they saw by the roadside two rows of tall willows, and out of the willow shade an old woman, leading a little child by the hand. She called out to Tripitaka Tang: "Monk, go no farther! Turn your horse east, and quickly; going west is all a road of death." Tripitaka, startled, jumped down and made a salutation: "Old bodhisattva, the ancients say: 'The sea is wide, and the fish may leap; the sky is vast, and the birds may fly.' How is there no road going west?" The old woman pointed west with her hand: "Five or six li on lies the Law-Destroying Kingdom. In a former life its king contracted a feud; in this life he sins without cause. Two years ago he vowed a great vow before Heaven: to kill ten thousand monks. These two years, bit by bit, he has killed nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-six nameless monks; he only waits for four monks of name, to make the full ten thousand and round out his vow. If you go on and reach the city, you will all be bodhisattvas delivering up your lives." At this Tripitaka's heart quaked, and he said, trembling: "Old bodhisattva, I am deeply thankful for your kindness, beyond repaying. But tell me—is there no side road that avoids the city? Your poor monk will go around." The old woman laughed: "You cannot go around, you cannot. Only the winged could pass." Bajie, showing off beside them, said: "Granny, don't talk in riddles; we are all of us winged."

The Pilgrim's fiery eyes and golden pupils truly know good from bad: the old woman leading the child was the Bodhisattva Guanyin and the boy Sudhana. Alarmed, he flung himself down in worship, crying: "Bodhisattva, your disciple failed to know you—failed to receive you!" The Bodhisattva, on a wreath of propitious cloud, rose lightly into the air. Tang the elder, terrified, stood but knew not where to put himself, and could only kneel and knock his head; Bajie and Sha Monk too knelt in haste and bowed toward the sky. In a moment the propitious cloud grew faint and far, and made straight for the Southern Sea.

The Pilgrim rose and helped the master up: "Rise, please; the Bodhisattva has gone back to her precious mountain." Tripitaka rose: "Wukong, if you knew it was the Bodhisattva, why not say so at once?" The Pilgrim laughed: "You were still asking questions when I flung myself down—how was that late?" Bajie and Sha Monk said to the Pilgrim: "We owe it to the Bodhisattva's warning: ahead must be the Law-Destroying Kingdom, which kills monks. What are we to do?" The Pilgrim said: "Idiot, don't be afraid. We have met venomous fiends and cruel monsters, tiger dens and dragon pools, and never taken hurt; these are mortals of one kingdom—what is there to fear? Only this is no place to linger; the sky darkens, and there are village households, traders coming back from market, who, seeing we are monks, might spread the cry abroad—that would not be safe. Let us lead the master off the high road, find some quiet spot, and take counsel." Tripitaka truly did as he said; the whole company slipped off the road and sat down under a sunken bank. The Pilgrim said: "Brothers, you two guard the master well; your old Sun will change himself, go into the city and look around, and find a quiet way, so that we may pass by night." Tripitaka charged him: "Disciple, do not take it lightly; the king's law allows nothing; be careful." The Pilgrim laughed: "Be at ease, be at ease. Your old Sun has his own devices."

The Great Sage, his word given, gathered himself and leaped up into the air with a whistle. Strange:

Nothing above pulls him by a cord; nothing below props him with a pole.Born of the same father and mother—yet his bones are the light ones.

He stood poised in the clouds and looked down. The city's joyous airs came swelling up, auspicious light rippling abroad. The Pilgrim said: "A fine place—why destroy the Law?" He watched a while; the sky darkened by degrees, and he saw this:

Crossroads streets ablaze with lantern light; ninefold palace halls, incense haze and chiming bells.Seven bright stars point at the azure vault; travelers from eight quarters put up for the night.In the camps of the six armies, painted horns begin faintly to blow; at the five-drum towers, the bronze water-clock begins its drops.On every side, settled mists lie dim; over the three markets, cold smoke gathers thick.Pair by pair, husbands and wives go in behind embroidered curtains; one wheel of bright moon climbs the east.

He thought: "If I go down into the streets to scout the way, a face like this will be cried monk the moment I meet anyone. Better change." He pinched a spell, pronounced the true word, shook himself, and changed into a moth that bats at lamps:

Slender of body, delicate of wing, light and nimble; it snuffs the lamp, bats the candle, flies to the light.Its very shape is spun into being; among rotting grass it works its wonders.It loves ever to court the burning glow, busily circling without pause.Purple-robed, fragrant-winged, chasing fireflies—it best loves the deep night when the wind is still.

And there he was, fluttering and flittering out into the six streets and three markets, along the eaves and round the corners of houses. Going along, he suddenly saw at a turning a row of households, each with a lantern hanging at its door. He said to himself: "These people keep the Lantern Festival—why are lanterns hung in rows?" He stiffened his wings, flew near, and looked carefully: on the lantern of the house in the very middle were six characters, "Lodging for Traveling Merchants," and beneath, four more, "Wang the Second's Inn." Then the Pilgrim knew it for an eating house. He stretched out his head and looked again: eight or nine people, all having supped, in loose clothes, headcloths off, feet and hands washed, had gone one by one to bed. The Pilgrim rejoiced in the dark: "The master can get through." And how did he know he could get through? He meant mischief: he would wait till the men were asleep, steal their clothes and headcloths, and dress as laymen to enter the city.

Ah! But here was a vexation: while he pondered, the waiter came forward and said: "Gentlemen, be careful. Honest men and rogues lodge together here; let every man watch his own clothes and luggage." Now travelers out on business—when are they not careful? Hearing the innkeeper's charge, they grew more careful still. They all sat up: "The master speaks reason. We road-worn men are afraid of sleeping sound and not waking in time, of losing our goods—what then? Take the clothes, the headcloths, and the saddlebags in with you; at first light hand them back, and we start." And Wang the Second truly carried the clothes and such in, every stick of it, into his own room. The Pilgrim, impatient, spread his wings and flew in after, and perched on a headcloth stand. He saw Wang the Second take down the lantern at the door, drop the bar, shut door and window, and only then go into his room, undress, and lie down. Wang the Second had a wife, with two children squalling and fretting, in no hurry to sleep; and the woman took up a torn garment and patched and quilted at it, with no sign of sleep either.

The Pilgrim thought in the dark: "If I wait for the old woman to sleep before I act, does that not wrong the master?" And fearing the watches would deepen and the city gates shut, he could not bear it: he flew down and pounced at the lamp. Truly: flinging his body into the flame, scorching his brow to feel for what life was left. The lamp had long gone out. He shook himself and changed into a rat, squeaked twice, jumped down, gathered up the clothes and headcloths, and made for the door. The woman cried out in a fluster: "Old man, trouble! A night rat has become a spirit!" At this the Pilgrim played another trick: barring the door, he called in a stern, loud voice: "Wang the Second, do not hear your wife's nonsense. I am no night rat become a spirit. Honest men do no deeds in the dark: I am the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, come down into the world, guarding the Tang monk west to fetch the scriptures. Your king is unrighteous, and I have come purposely to borrow these clothes and caps, to dress my master in. Once we are past the city, they shall be returned." At this Wang the Second rolled up in a scramble, groping blackly about, a man in a hurry besides—grabbing his trousers for a shirt, pulling them on leftward and rightward, and neither way would they go on.

The Great Sage, using his carrying spell, had long since ridden the clouds away. He turned and came straight to the sunken bank by the road. Tripitaka, seeing the stars bright and the moon clear, leaned out and gazed, and seeing the Pilgrim come close, called: "Disciple, can we pass the Law-Destroying Kingdom?" The Pilgrim came up, set down the clothes, and said: "Master, to pass the Law-Destroying Kingdom, monk we cannot be." Bajie said: "Brother, whom are you squeezing? Leaving off monk is easy enough: only go half a year without shaving, and the hair will grow." The Pilgrim said: "Who can wait half a year? Laymen we must all be on the spot." The Idiot panicked: "But you never look to reason in your talk. We are monks now, and must be laymen on the spot—how are we to wear headcloths? Press the edges tight, and there is still no place for the top-knot cord." Tripitaka shouted: "No jesting; to the business. How is it truly?" The Pilgrim said: "Master, I have seen this city. Though the king is unrighteous and kills monks, he is a true Son of Heaven: over the city ride auspicious light and joyous airs. I know the streets of it, and I know the local speech, and can speak it. Just now I borrowed these clothes and headcloths at the inn; let us dress as laymen, go in and take lodging, rise at the fourth watch, have the innkeeper lay a fast meal, and at the fifth watch slip out by the city gate and take the great road west. If anyone meets and holds us, we can answer: we are envoys of the sovereign court above; the Law-Destroying King dared not delay us, but let us go." Sha Monk said: "Senior brother's plan is the fittest; let us do as he says."

So the elder, helpless, took off his cassock and put away his monk's cap, dressed in lay clothes, and tied on a headcloth. Sha Monk changed too. Bajie's head was too big for any headcloth; the Pilgrim took needle and thread, split two headcloths and sewed them into one, and set it on his head, and picked him out the largest, widest clothes. Then he changed into a set himself, and said: "Gentlemen, on this journey the words 'master' and 'disciple' go into storage." Bajie said: "Without those words, what do we call one another?" The Pilgrim said: "All of us are brothers now: the master is Master Tang, you are Master Zhu the Third, Sha Monk is Master Sha the Fourth, and I am Master Sun the Second. At the inn not one of you speaks; leave the answering all to me. If they ask our trade, we are horse dealers, and this white horse is our sample. We are ten brothers; we four come first to hire rooms and sell horses; six more are lodged outside the city with the herd, for it was late and they could not bring them in. The inn will surely treat us handsomely; we will enjoy it, and when we go, I will pick up a potsherd, change it into a piece of silver for thanks, and off we go." The elder could only bend to it.

The four led the horse and shouldered the load in haste, and hurried across. This was a peaceful country: at the first watch the gates were not yet shut, and they went straight in. Coming to the door of Wang the Second's inn they heard cries inside—one said, "My headcloth is gone"; another, "My clothes are gone." The Pilgrim made as if he knew nothing, and led them to lodge across the way, at an angle. That house had not yet taken in its lantern; he came to the door and called: "Innkeeper, any room to let? We would lodge." A woman's voice answered within: "Yes, yes, yes—walk up, gentlemen." Before the words were done a man came out to lead the horse, and the Pilgrim handed it over to be led in. He brought the master up behind the lamp shadows, straight up the stair; above were convenient tables and chairs. They pushed open the latticed window and sat down together in the moonlight. Someone brought up a lamp; the Pilgrim stopped her at the door and blew it out in one breath: "Such a moon as this needs no lamp."

She had barely gone down when a maid brought up four bowls of clear tea; the Pilgrim took them. Then up the stairs came a woman of fifty-seven or fifty-eight, who walked straight to them and stood by. She asked: "Gentlemen, where from? What precious goods do you carry?" The Pilgrim said: "We come from the north, with a few rough horses to sell." The woman said: "Horse dealers, and young yet." The Pilgrim said: "This is Master Tang, this Master Zhu the Third, this Master Sha the Fourth; I, your student, am Master Sun the Second." The woman laughed: "Different surnames." The Pilgrim said: "Different surnames living as one household: we are ten brothers in all. We four come first to hire rooms and make our fire; the other six are lodged outside the city with a drove of horses, for the hour was late and they could not bring them in. Once we have hired rooms they will all come in at morning, and we go home only when the horses are sold." The woman said: "How many horses in the drove?" The Pilgrim said: "Big and small, a hundred and a few more, all built like this fellow here, only the coats differ." The woman laughed: "Master Sun the Second is truly a man who knows the trade's rules. Well that you came to my house—no second house in town would have dared take you in. My courtyard is broad, my stalls and halters are all ready, and there is fodder and grain; your few hundred horses would all find room. Only one thing: I have kept this inn for years, and it has a humble name. My late husband was surnamed Zhao; unhappily he died long ago. I am called Widow Zhao's Inn. I keep my guests three ways. First the plain dealing, then the courtesy: the room price settled first, and the reckoning goes easy." The Pilgrim said: "Well said. What three ways does your house keep guests? The old saying goes: 'Goods have high and low, and three grades of price; but guests far and near are all seen alike.' How do you come to three ways? Try telling me." Widow Zhao said: "Here we keep first, middle, and last. First style: a banquet of five fruits and five dishes, a lion-and-immortal sugar table for every two guests, with singing girls brought in to sing and sleep by—the rate is five mace of silver apiece, room included." The Pilgrim laughed: "A bargain! Where I come from, five mace would not hire the singing girl." The widow went on: "Middle style: one common table, fruit and warm wine only, poured out for your own finger-games and toasts, no singing girls—two mace of silver a head." The Pilgrim said: "Bargain again. And the last style?" The woman said: "I dare not say it before honored guests." The Pilgrim said: "Say it anyway; we can choose the bargain that suits." The woman said: "Last style: no one waits on you; there is convenient food in the pot, eat as you please; when you are full, take a handful of straw, make a floor pallet, and sleep where it is handy. At daylight give what few coppers you like for your food, and no one will quarrel." Bajie heard and cried: "Luck, luck! Old Zhu's trade has come! Let me eat my fill watching the pot and sleep like anything before the stove!" The Pilgrim said: "Brother, what talk! You and I on the roads—who does not earn a few taels of silver? Have the first style laid."

The woman, overjoyed, called: "Bring good tea; kitchen, get things ready quickly." Down she went, and called busy: "Kill the chickens and the geese, cook the pickled relishes." And again: "Kill a pig and a sheep—what today cannot be eaten tomorrow can. See to the wine; take white rice for the rice and white flour for the cakes." Upstairs Tripitaka Tang heard and said: "Master Sun the Second, this is bad: they are killing fowls and geese, pigs and sheep; if it is served, we are all on the long fast—who of us dares eat?" The Pilgrim said: "I have my plan." He went to the head of the stairs and stamped his feet: "Mother Zhao, come up." The mother came up: "What are your orders, Second Master?" The Pilgrim said: "Kill nothing today; today we keep fast." The widow, surprised: "Is it the long fast you keep, gentlemen, or the monthly fast?" The Pilgrim said: "Neither. Ours is called the Gengshen fast: today is a gengshen day, and the fast must be kept; but after the third watch it is xinyou, and the fast is open. Kill tomorrow. For now, lay us something plain, and the first-style price shall be paid to the full."

The woman, delighted more than ever, ran down calling: "Kill nothing, kill nothing! Take wood ears, Min bamboo shoots, bean curd, gluten; pull greens in the garden; make the vermicelli soup; raise the dough and steam the rolls; boil white rice; brew scented tea." Ah! The cooks were men of daily practice; in a moment all was ready, laid upstairs, and with the lion-and-immortal candies at hand the four feasted as they pleased. They asked again: "Do you take plain wine?" The Pilgrim said: "Only Master Tang does not; we three will take a few cups." The widow brought up a pot of warmed wine. They had just filled their cups when there came a knocking and clattering below. The Pilgrim said: "Mother, what is being broken down there?" The widow said: "Nothing—some tenants of my little farm have brought rent rice late, and I told them to sleep below. With you gentlemen here there was no one to send, so I bade them carry the sedan to the quarter to invite singing girls to keep you company; it must be the sedan poles knocking the floorboards." The Pilgrim said: "Better you told me—do not go to invite them at all. For one thing it is a fast day; for another, the brothers are not come. Let them all come in tomorrow, and we will invite a girl apiece here in your house for sport, when the horses are sold and we are off." The widow said: "Good guests, good guests—no quarrel lost, and spirit saved." She called: "Carry the sedan back in; do not go to invite." The four ate and drank, the things were cleared, and all dispersed.

Tripitaka Tang whispered close in the Pilgrim's ear: "Where do we sleep?" The Pilgrim said: "Sleep here, upstairs." Tripitaka said: "It will not do. We have toiled and moiled; if we sleep, and someone of the house comes up suddenly to tidy, and sees a cap rolled off and a bare head showing—knows us for monks, and raises the cry—what then?" The Pilgrim said: "True!" He went to the stair head and stamped again; up came the widow: "What more, Master Sun?" The Pilgrim said: "Where are we to sleep?" The woman said: "Upstairs sleeps best: no mosquitoes, the south wind blowing, windows wide—a fine place to sleep." The Pilgrim said: "We cannot sleep there. My Master Zhu the Third has chills and damp; Master Sha the Fourth has rheum in the shoulder; brother Tang must sleep in the dark; and I am a little dazzled by light myself. This is no place to sleep."

The mother went down and sighed against the counter rail. She had a daughter, with a child in her arms, who came near: "Mother, the old saying goes: 'Ten days sitting on the sands, one day running nine shallows.' In this heat trade is slack; when autumn comes there will be more business than you can do—why sigh?" The woman said: "Child, it is not empty rooms I fret over. Tonight, just as I was shutting shop at the first watch, four horse dealers came to hire rooms, and would have first-style entertainment. I hoped to make a few mace of silver, and they keep fast—no money to be made—so I sigh." The daughter said: "Having eaten here, they will not like to go elsewhere; tomorrow you can still lay meat and wine—how will you not make money?" The woman said: "More than that: they are all ailing, fear drafts, are dazzled by light, and must sleep in the dark. Our house is all loose single tile—where would you find a dark corner? Better give them a supper and pack them off to another house." The daughter said: "Mother, we have a dark place at home, with no draft either—very good, very good." The woman said: "Where?" The daughter said: "When father lived he had a great chest made, four feet wide, seven feet long, three feet high; six or seven people could sleep in it. Let them sleep in the chest." The woman said: "Who knows if it will please? Let me ask.—Master Sun, my poor house has no dark corner but one great chest: no wind gets in, no light either. How would it be to sleep in the chest?" The Pilgrim said: "Good, good, good." He had some of the tenants carry out the chest and take off the lid, and asked them to come down.

The Pilgrim led the master; Sha Monk carried the load; behind the lamp shadows they came to the chest. Bajie, regarding nothing, scrambled in first. Sha Monk passed the luggage in, helped Tripitaka Tang in, and went in himself. The Pilgrim said: "Where is my horse?" A servant by said: "The horse is tethered in the back room, eating fodder." The Pilgrim said: "Lead him here, and bring the trough, and tether him close against the chest." Then going in, he called: "Mother Zhao, put on the lid, drive the pin, turn the lock; and look for us where any light shows, and paper it over. Come early in the morning to open." The widow said: "How very careful you are!" Then all shut their doors and slept—no more of that.

Now the four of them, inside the chest—poor souls! First, caps just tied on; second, the weather hot, and the air shut in, not a breath of wind. They took off the headcloths, stripped off the clothes, and, having no fans, only plied their monk's caps, flapping. Shoulder pressed to shoulder, they slept at last, at the second watch. Only the Pilgrim, with a heart for mischief, could not sleep. He reached out and pinched Bajie's leg. The Idiot drew in his foot and grumbled: "Sleep, can't you? We have toiled and moiled all day—and still the heart to pinch and play?" The Pilgrim wheedled: "Our own stake was five thousand taels; the horses sold for three thousand; in the two saddlebags we have four thousand in hand; this drove will fetch three thousand more—capital and profit both. Enough, enough." Bajie, wanting only sleep, made no answer.

Who knew that in this inn the waiters, the water carriers, and the stokers were old comrades of robbers: hearing the Pilgrim speak of much silver, some of them slipped out, banded with twenty-odd thieves, and came with open torches and staves to plunder the horse dealers, bursting the door in. Widow Zhao and her daughter shook in terror, barred their room, and let them do their will outside. The thieves did not want the inn's stuff; they looked for guests. Upstairs they found no one; with torches they searched about, and saw in the court one great chest, a white horse tethered at its foot, the lid locked fast, not to be overturned. The thieves said: "Road men all have their craft. That chest rides heavy—it must hold baggage and silver locked within. Let us steal the horse, carry the chest out of the city, open it, and share—eh?" The thieves truly found ropes and poles, hoisted the chest, and off with it, swaying and swinging. Bajie woke: "Brother, sleep; what is all this swaying?" The Pilgrim said: "Not a word; no one is swaying us." Tripitaka and Sha Monk woke suddenly too: "Who is it carries us?" The Pilgrim said: "No shouting! Let them carry: carried as far as the Western Heaven, it saves us the walk."

The thieves, having their prize, did not go west but bore the chest toward the east of the city, killed the soldier who kept the gate, flung it open, and went out. At once the alarm ran through the six streets and three markets and the fire-watch men of every shop, and word was carried to the general commanding the city patrol and to the office of horse and chariots of the east city. The general and the commandant, the matter touching their own heads, mustered men, horses, and archers, and sallied out after the thieves. The thieves, seeing the soldiers strong, dared not fight: they set down the chest, dropped the white horse, and scattered to the hills. The officers took not half a robber, but won back the chest and the horse, and returned in triumph. In the lamplight the general looked at the horse—a fine horse:

Mane parting in silver threads; tail sweeping like a bar of jade.What of the Eight Steeds and the dragon colts of story? He outdoes the Sushuang and the ambling Kuanduan.A thousand gold has bought such bones; ten thousand li he chases the wind.Climbing, he is one with the gray clouds; crying at the moon, even and white as new snow.Truly a flood dragon from his island in the sea—joy to the world of men: a jade qilin come among them.

The general, mounting this white horse in place of his own, led his troops back into the city, had the chest carried to the general's yamen, sealed it with a paper seal together with the commandant, set men to watch it till daylight, and memorialized for the throne's decision. The troops dispersed—no more of that.

Now Tang the elder in the chest upbraided the Pilgrim: "You monkey-head, you have ruined me! Outside, if men had seized us and sent us to the Law-Destroying King, there would still have been words to say; now, locked in a chest, stolen by robbers, retaken by soldiers—tomorrow before the king we shall be laid open to the knife on the spot, and shall not complete his ten thousand for him!" The Pilgrim said: "If they open the chest and take us out, we shall be bound or strung up. Bear it a little, and we are spared the rope. Tomorrow, before that muddled king, your old Sun has his answer ready; I warrant you come to no harm, not a hair. Sleep at ease."

Toward the third watch the Pilgrim played his trick: he slid out his staff, blew on it a breath of immortal air, and cried: "Change!" It became a three-pointed awl; two or three borings at the chest's foot, and he had an eye through it. He put up the awl, shook himself, changed into an ant, and crawled out. He showed his true form, stepped up on the clouds, and came straight to the palace gates. The king lay in deep sleep. He used the Great Art of the Divided Body Meeting Everywhere: the hairs of his left arm he plucked all out, blew a breath of immortal air, and cried: "Change!"—all became little Pilgrims. From his right arm he plucked the hairs too, blew, cried: "Change!"—all became drowsy-flies. He pronounced the word OM, and bade the local earth god lead them to scatter through the palace courts, the five ministries and six boards, and every office, great and small, into the houses of every official of rank—to each, one drowsy-fly, so that every man slept sound and did not turn over. Then he took the gold-banded staff in hand, weighed it, flourished it, and cried: "Treasure, change!" It became many hundreds of shaving razors. He took one, gave one to each little Pilgrim, and off they went to the palace courts, the five ministries and six boards, and every office, and shaved heads. Ah! This indeed was:

The Law King destroys the Law, yet the Law is without end; the Law runs through heaven and earth, and the great Way lies open.The ten thousand laws, from one first cause, return to one body; the wondrous forms of the three vehicles are from the beginning one.He drills the jade chest and makes the secret plain; he scatters the golden hairs and breaks the clouded dullness.Surely the Law King shall win the true fruit: unborn, undying, coming and going—all empty.

That half of the night the shaving was done. He pronounced the spell, shouted back the earth god and the spirits, shook his body, and the hairs of both arms flew home to their roots. He twisted the razors back into one truth; they knew their own nature again, and were one gold-banded staff; he shrank it small and hid it in his ear. He turned back into an ant, drilled into the chest, showed his true form, and kept watch beside Tripitaka Tang in their trouble—no more of that.

Now in the palace courts the palace maids and colored girls rose before day to comb and wash—and every head was shorn; the eunuchs great and small of the palace had all lost their hair. They came crowding to the sleeping palace, played music to wake the king, every one with tears held in her eyes, none daring to speak. Presently the queens of the three palaces woke: their hair too was gone. They hurried lamps to the foot of the dragon bed to look: in the quilted covers slept a monk. The queen could not hold her tongue, and the king woke with a start. He opened his eyes quickly, saw the queen's bare head, scrambled up crying: "Zitong, how is this with you?" The queen said: "My lord is the same." The king felt his own head, and his three corpse-spirits groaned and his seven souls flew into the air: "What is to become of me?" In his panic the six-court ladies, the palace maids, the eunuchs great and small, all knelt bald-headed: "My lord, we have all turned monks." The king, tears in his eyes, said: "It must be that I, a poor creature, have killed too many monks…" At once he decreed: "None of you shall breathe a word of the shaving, for fear the ministers in council murmur that the kingdom is not governed right. Let all come to court and hold audience."

Now the officials of the five ministries and six boards, of every yamen great and small, must all go before day to court and bow at the palace steps. And that night every one of them had lost his hair too. Each wrote a memorial of the matter. And then:

The still whip cracks three times before the emperor; the memorials state the cause of this shaving of hair.

What would come of the thieves' plunder in the chest the general had won, and what of the lives of Tripitaka Tang and his four? Listen to the next chapter to find out.

Where Law Is Destroyed the Sangha Is Kept, and Perfect Awakening Comes Round; The Law King Attains the Truth, His Nature Truly Natural

The story tells how the Tang Tripitaka held fast his primal yang and came out of that bitter tangle of powder and paint. Following Pilgrim west they traveled on, and summer came before they knew it. Just then the warm wind began to stir and the plum rains fell in fine threads. What a fine scene:

Green shade deepens slowly, thick on thick; the light wind carries swallows leading their young.New lotus leaves turn over on the pond; the tall bamboos grow fresh and full.Fragrant grass runs green to the sky; mountain flowers carpet the ground everywhere.By the brook the sweet flags stand like planted swords; pomegranate flames redden the traveler's picture.

Master and disciples, the four of them, bore the blaze and heat as they went. Suddenly they saw two rows of tall willows by the road, and out of the willow shade came an old woman, supporting a small child with her right hand. She called loudly to the Tang monk: "Monk, go no farther. Turn your horse east, and quickly — westward lies nothing but the road of death." Tripitaka, startled, jumped down from his horse, made a salutation, and said: "Worthy bodhisattva, the ancients said: 'The sea is wide and the fish may leap; the sky is open and the birds may fly.' How can there be no road westward?" The old woman pointed west with her hand and said: "Five or six li from here is the country of Law-Destroying. In a former life its king contracted a deadly grudge, and in this life he commits crimes without cause. Two years ago he made a grand vow to heaven: to kill ten thousand monks. Over these two years, one after another, he has killed nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-six nameless monks. Now he waits only for four famous monks to make up the full ten thousand and complete the vow. If you go on into that city, you are all bodhisattvas offering up your lives." Tripitaka heard this with fear in his heart and said trembling: "Worthy bodhisattva, your kindness is deep, and we can never thank you enough. But tell me — is there a side road that goes around without entering the city? This humble monk would rather turn aside." The old woman laughed: "You cannot turn aside, you cannot turn aside. Only the flying can get past." Bajie, showing off beside her, said: "Old mother, don't talk in riddles. We can all fly."

Pilgrim's fiery eyes and golden pupils truly knew good from bad: the old woman with the child was the Bodhisattva Guanyin and the boy Sudhana. In a fluster he flung himself down in worship, calling: "Bodhisattva, your disciple failed to know you — forgive me, forgive me." The bodhisattva lightly raised one auspicious cloud. The Tang elder, terrified, had no ground to stand on and only knelt and knocked his head; Bajie and Sha Monk also hurriedly knelt and bowed toward the sky. In a moment the cloud grew faint and far, and she returned straight to the Southern Sea.

Pilgrim got up and helped the master: "Please rise. The bodhisattva has gone back to her precious mountain." Tripitaka rose and said: "Wukong, if you knew it was the bodhisattva, why didn't you say so sooner?" Pilgrim laughed: "I threw myself down in worship the moment she spoke — how is that not soon enough?" Bajie and Sha Monk said to Pilgrim: "Thanks to the bodhisattva's warning, we know the Law-Destroying country lies ahead and kills monks. What are we to do?" Pilgrim said: "Don't be afraid, Idiot. We've met poisonous demons and fierce monsters, gone through tiger dens and dragon pools, and never been hurt. This is only a country of common men. What is there to fear? The trouble is this is no place to linger. It's getting late, and there are village folk coming back from trading in the city. If they see we are monks and spread the word, it will be unsafe. Let's lead the master off the high road and find some quiet spot to talk it over." Tripitaka did as he said. The whole party slipped off the road and settled down under a cutbank. Pilgrim said: "Brothers, guard the master well. Old Sun will change his shape, go look over that city, and find a quiet road so we can pass in the night." Tripitaka cautioned him: "Disciple, take it seriously — the king's law will have none of this. Be careful." Pilgrim laughed: "Rest easy, rest easy. Old Sun has his own ideas."

That great Sage, when he had done speaking, sprang up with a whistle and jumped into the air. Strange but true:

No rope pulls him from above; no pole props him from below.Born of father and mother like everyone else — yet how light his bones.

He stood in the clouds and looked down. The city glowed with a happy warmth, bathed in soft lucky light. Pilgrim said: "What a fine place — how can it destroy the Law?" After watching a while, darkness slowly fell, and he saw this:

At the crossroads lanterns blaze bright; in the ninefold palace incense drifts and bells sound.Seven bright stars light the blue vast; travelers from eight quarters lay down their loads.In the camps of the six armies, painted horns begin to blow, faint and far;on the tower of the five drums, the copper water-clock drips drop by drop.Night fog hangs dim on every side; cold smoke veils the three markets.Husband and wife, pair by pair, go in behind the embroidered curtains; one bright moon climbs the eastern sky.

He thought: "If I go down to look over the streets, a face like this meeting anyone will surely be called a monk. Let me change first." He pinched the spell, spoke the true words, shook his body, and changed into a moth that flutters at lamps:

Body slender, wings quick and light; it snuffs the lamp and flutters at the candle, drawn to the light.The very shape it was born with, made by transformation; in the rotting grass its magic works.It loves the hot glow and touches the flame, busily circling without rest;purple wings, fragrant pinions, chasing the fireflies — best of all, the deep of night when the wind is still.

See him flutter and flip through the six streets and three markets, along the eaves and around the corners of houses. As he flew he suddenly saw, at a bend in a corner, a row of houses, every doorway hung with a lantern. He thought: "Is the Lantern Festival on here? Why do they hang lanterns door after door in a row?" He squared his wings, flew closer, and looked carefully. Right in the middle was a household whose square lantern read, in six characters, "Lodging for Merchants Coming and Going," and beneath that, in four, "Wang the Second's Inn." Only then did Pilgrim know it was an inn. He craned his head for another look and saw eight or nine men who had eaten supper, loosened their clothes, taken off their headcloths, washed their feet and hands, and gone to bed, every one. Pilgrim rejoiced in secret: "The master will get through." How did he know he would get through? An unworthy thought had come into his head: wait till those men were asleep, steal their clothes and headcloths, and enter the city dressed as laymen.

Ah! But things do not always go as one wishes. While he was thinking, the innkeeper's man came forward and said: "Gentlemen, be careful. Here the honest and the dishonest mix. Keep watch on your own clothes and luggage." Think: when do traveling traders ever fail to be careful? Hearing the inn's warning, they grew even more cautious. They all sat up and said: "The master of the house talks sense. We road-worn men are tired; if we fall fast asleep and can't wake in a hurry and something goes missing, what then? Take our clothes, headcloths, and saddlebags inside with you, and hand them back at dawn when we set out." Wang the Second really did carry all the clothes and gear into his own room. Impatient, Pilgrim spread his wings, flew in after them, and perched on a headcloth stand. He watched Wang take down the lantern at the door, lower the bar, shut doors and windows, and only then go into his room, undress, and lie down. Wang had a wife with two children who bawled and fussed and would not sleep. The wife took up a worn garment and sat mending and stitching it, and she showed no sign of sleeping either.

Pilgrim thought to himself: "If I wait for this woman to fall asleep first, won't I be failing the master?" And he feared that as the night deepened the city gate would close. He could not bear it, flew down, and flung himself at the lamp. Truly: throwing his body into the flame, scorching his brow to seek what life remained. The lamp went out at once. He shook his body again and changed into a rat, squeaking twice, hopped down, grabbed the clothes and headcloths, and made for the door. The wife cried in a fluster: "Old man, trouble! A night rat has turned spirit!" Hearing this, Pilgrim worked another trick. Blocking the doorway, he called out in a stern, loud voice: "Wang the Second, don't listen to your wife's nonsense. I am no night rat turned spirit. An honest man does no dark deeds. I am the Great Sage Equal to Heaven come down to earth, guarding the Tang monk on his way to fetch scriptures in the Western Heaven. Your king is without the Way, so I came specially to borrow these clothes and caps to dress my master. Once we are past the city I will send them back." Wang the Second rolled out of bed in the pitch dark, a man in a hurry, grabbing his pants for a shirt, unable to get them on from the left or pull them on from the right.

The Great Sage used his carrying magic and was long since out on a cloud. He wheeled about and came straight back to the cutbank by the road. Tripitaka, under the bright stars and moon, leaned out and gazed, and seeing Pilgrim come up close, called: "Disciple, can we get past the Law-Destroying country?" Pilgrim came up, set down the clothes, and said: "Master, to get past the Law-Destroying country, being a monk won't do." Bajie said: "Brother, whom are you squeezing? Quitting the monkhood is easy — just skip the head-shaving for half a year and the hair will grow." Pilgrim said: "Who can wait half a year? Right now we must all turn layman." The Idiot panicked: "Everything you say is senseless. We are monks now; if we must be laymen on the spot, how can we wear headcloths? Even cinching the sides tight, there's nothing to tie over the crown." Tripitaka said sternly: "No fooling. Attend to business. What exactly is the plan?" Pilgrim said: "Master, I have looked over the city. Though the king, without the Way, kills monks, he is a true Son of Heaven all the same — over the city there is lucky light and joyful air. I know the streets inside, and I understand the local speech and can speak it. I have just borrowed these few clothes and headcloths from the inn. Let us dress as laymen, go in and take lodging, rise at the fourth watch, have the inn set out a vegetarian meal, and at the fifth watch slip out the city gate and take the westward high road. If anyone stops us, we can argue our case: say only that we are envoys from the sovereign court above, that the Law-Destroying king dared not delay us and let us go." Sha Monk said: "Big brother has settled it just right. Let's do as he says."

So the elder, having no choice, took off his cassock, put away his monk's cap, dressed in a layman's clothes, and put on a headcloth. Sha Monk changed too. Bajie's head was too big for a headcloth, so Pilgrim took needle and thread, pulled two headcloths apart, and sewed them into one, which he set on his head; then he picked out a set of loose clothes for him to wear. Last he changed into a set himself and said: "Gentlemen, on this trip let's put away the words 'master' and 'disciple.'" Bajie said: "Without those words, what do we call each other?" Pilgrim said: "We are all brothers now. The master is Master Tang; you are Third Master Zhu; Sha Monk is Fourth Master Sha; and I am Second Master Sun. At the inn, none of you is to speak — leave all the talking to me. When they ask what business we are in, say we are horse traders, and let this white horse stand as a sample. Say we are ten brothers, and that the four of us came ahead to rent rooms and sell the horses. The innkeeper will be sure to treat us well. When we've had our fill, on the day we go, I'll pick up a shard of tile, change it into a piece of silver to thank them, and we'll be off." The elder, having no choice, bent to it.

The four hurriedly led the horse and carried the load across. This was a peaceful land, and at watch-changing time the gate was not yet shut, so they went straight in. Passing the door of Wang the Second's inn, they heard shouting inside. One voice said: "My headcloth is gone!" Another: "My clothes are gone!" Pilgrim pretended to know nothing and led them to lodge across the street, diagonally opposite. That household had not yet taken in its lantern. Pilgrim went up to the door and called: "Innkeeper, any spare room? We'd like to lodge." A woman's voice answered from inside: "Yes, yes, yes. Please come up, gentlemen." At once a man came out to lead the horse, and Pilgrim handed it over. He led the master up behind the shadow of the lantern straight to the stairs. Upstairs there were handy tables and chairs. They pushed open the lattice window and sat down together in the moonlight. Someone brought up a lamp, but Pilgrim blocked the doorway and blew it out in one breath: "With a moon like this, who needs a lamp?"

The person had hardly gone down when a maid came up with four bowls of clear tea, and Pilgrim took them. Then a woman of fifty-seven or fifty-eight came up from below, walked straight to the top of the stairs, and stood to one side. She asked: "Gentlemen, where do you come from? What fine goods do you carry?" Pilgrim said: "We come from the north, with some common horses to sell." The woman said: "You horse-trading gentlemen are still young." Pilgrim said: "This is Master Tang, this is Third Master Zhu, this is Fourth Master Sha, and I am Second Master Sun." The woman laughed: "Different surnames!" Pilgrim said: "Yes indeed — brothers of different surnames living together. We are ten brothers in all. We four came ahead to take rooms and light the stove; the other six are resting outside the city with the herd of horses — too late in the day to bring them in. Once we have our rooms, they'll all come in tomorrow morning. We leave only when the horses are sold." The woman said: "How many horses in the herd?" Pilgrim said: "A hundred or more, great and small, all built like this one — only the coats differ." The woman laughed: "Second Master Sun is truly a man who knows the trader's rules. You did well to come to my house — no other would have dared take you in. My courtyard is broad, the mangers are all fitted out, and there is plenty of hay and feed. I could stable a few hundred horses for you. One thing, though. My house has kept this inn for years and goes by a humble name. My late husband was surnamed Zhao, unhappily dead and gone a long time. They call it Widow Zhao's Inn. In my inn we serve guests in three styles. Business first, manners after: let us settle the price of the rooms first, and the rest of the account will come easy." Pilgrim said: "Well said. Which three styles? As the common saying goes: 'Goods have three grades and three prices; guests far or near are all one.' What do you mean, three styles of service? Try me — tell me about them." Widow Zhao said: "Mine are the high, middle, and low. The high: a banquet of five fruits and five dishes, sugar tables with lion and immortal candies, two guests to a table, with singing girls engaged to sing and keep you company through the night — five mace of silver a head, room charge included." Pilgrim laughed: "That's cheap! Where I come from five mace won't even hire the singing girl." The widow said: "The middle: a shared table with only fruit and warm wine, poured out while you play your guessing games and drinking forfeits yourselves, no singing girls — just two mace of silver a head." Pilgrim said: "Cheaper still. And the low?" The woman said: "I dare not say it before honored guests." Pilgrim said: "Say it anyway, so we can pick what suits us." The woman said: "The low: no one waits on you. There's rice in the pot — eat as you please. When you're full, take some straw, make a pallet on the floor, and sleep where it's handy. At daybreak give what few coppers you like for the meal, and we'll never quarrel." Bajie, hearing this, said: "Luck, luck! Old Zhu's kind of business! Let me eat my fill watching the pot and sleep right there by the stove!" Pilgrim said: "Brother, what talk is that? On the roads, you and I — where would we not earn a few ounces of silver? Lay on the high style."

The woman was delighted through and through. She called: "Mind the tea. Kitchen — hurry with the food." She went downstairs and busily called: "Kill a chicken, kill a goose, boil the pickled meats to go with rice." Then: "Kill a pig, kill a sheep — what we don't use today we'll use tomorrow. Mind the good wine. Cook rice from white rice, roll cakes from white flour." Upstairs the Tang monk heard and said: "Second Master Sun, what now? She's having chickens and geese killed, pigs and sheep slaughtered. If they're brought up, and we keep a lifelong fast — who could eat?" Pilgrim said: "I have a plan." He went to the head of the stairs, stamped his feet a little, and called: "Mother Zhao, come up." The old woman came up: "What are your orders, Second Master?" Pilgrim said: "No killing today — we are keeping a fast today." The widow, surprised, said: "Is it a lifelong fast, gentlemen, or a monthly fast?" Pilgrim said: "Neither. Ours is called the Gengshen fast. Today is a gengshen day, and it must be kept. Past the third watch comes the xinyou day, and the fast is over. Do your killing tomorrow. For now go prepare some vegetarian dishes, and we'll pay at the high-style rate, I promise."

The woman was more pleased than ever and ran down to call: "No killing, no killing! Bring wood-ear fungus, Fujian bamboo shoots, bean curd, wheat gluten. Pull some greens from the garden, make vermicelli soup, raise dough and steam rolls, boil white rice, brew fragrant tea." Ah! The kitchen cooks were men of daily practice. In no time it was all ready and carried up, and there were ready-made lion-and-immortal sweets besides. The four ate their fill as they pleased. They were asked: "Will you take vegetarian wine?" Pilgrim said: "Only Master Tang will not; we'll have a few cups." The widow brought up a pot of warmed wine. The three had just filled their cups when came a bang and a clatter. Pilgrim said: "Mother, what did they drop down there?" The widow said: "Nothing broken. Some tenants from my little farm brought the rent rice late, and I told them to sleep below. With the gentlemen arriving there was no one to send, so I told them to carry a sedan to the pleasure quarter to invite singing girls to keep you company — I suppose it was the sedan poles knocking on the floorboards." Pilgrim said: "Good thing you told me — don't send for them at all. First, we're keeping a fast; second, our brothers haven't come in. Let them all come in tomorrow, and we'll hire a singing girl apiece then and have our fun here, once the horses are sold." The widow said: "Good men, good men — you keep the peace and husband your strength too." She called: "Carry the sedan back in — no need to fetch anyone." The four had their wine and rice, the table was cleared, and everyone went their ways.

Tripitaka whispered beside Pilgrim's ear: "Where do we sleep?" Pilgrim said: "Right here upstairs." Tripitaka said: "That's not safe. We'll be worn out; suppose we sleep sound and someone from the household comes up to tidy, sees a cap rolled off, a bald pate showing, knows us for monks, and raises the cry — what then?" Pilgrim said: "True!" He went to the head of the stairs again and stamped his feet. The widow came up: "More orders, Master Sun?" Pilgrim said: "Where do we sleep?" The woman said: "Upstairs sleeps fine — no mosquitoes, a south wind, windows flung wide. Nothing better for sleeping." Pilgrim said: "We can't sleep here. My Third Master Zhu has damp-cold in his bones, Fourth Master Sha has leaky shoulders, Brother Tang must sleep in the dark, and I have eyes that can't bear light. This is no place to sleep."

The old woman went down and leaned on the counter, sighing. She had a daughter, who came up with a child in her arms and said: "Mother, as the saying goes: 'Ten days sitting on the shallows, one day running nine rapids.' It's blazing summer now; though trade is slack, come autumn there'll be more business than we can handle. What are you sighing about?" The woman said: "Child, it isn't slack trade I'm fretting over. This evening, just as we were closing up at watch-changing time, four horse traders came to take rooms, wanting the high-style treatment. I hoped to make a few mace of silver off them, but they keep a fast, and I can't make a coin. That's why I sigh." The daughter said: "They've eaten here now; it would be poor manners for them to move on. Lay on meat and wine tomorrow and you'll make your money yet. Why can't you?" The woman said: "They all have ailments — chills and fears of drafts and eyes that can't bear light — they must sleep somewhere dark. And look at this house: thin single-tiled roofs, not a dark corner to be found. Better to lose the price of one meal and send them on to another house." The daughter said: "Mother, there is a dark place in this house, and free of drafts too. Very good, very good." The woman said: "Where?" The daughter said: "In his lifetime Father had a great chest made — four feet wide, seven feet long, about three feet high. Six or seven people could sleep inside. Let them sleep in the chest." The woman said: "Who knows if they'd like it? Let me ask. — Master Sun, my humble house has no dark place at all, only one great chest: no draft gets in, and no light either. How would sleeping in the chest suit you?" Pilgrim said: "Good, good, very good." He had a few of the tenants carry the chest out, open the lid, and invite the four downstairs.

Pilgrim led the master, Sha Monk carried the load, and they came straight to the chest behind the lantern shadows. Bajie, without more thought, scrambled in first. Sha Monk passed in the luggage and helped the Tang monk in, then climbed in himself. Pilgrim said: "Where is my horse?" A servant nearby said: "Tied in the back room, eating hay." Pilgrim said: "Lead him here. Bring the manger too, and tie him right up against the chest." Once he was in, he called: "Mother Zhao, put on the lid, fit the pin, turn the lock. And look us over — wherever the light comes through, paste a little paper over it. Come and open us early tomorrow." The widow said: "How careful you are!" And so everyone shut their doors and went to sleep. Of that no more.

Now the four of them, shut in the chest — poor souls! First, the headcloths were strange on their heads; second, the night was hot and the air stifling, not a breath of draft. They took off the headcloths and stripped off the clothes, and having no fan, flapped away with their monk's caps, puff and flutter. Pressing side to side, they slept at last around the second watch. Only Pilgrim, with mischief in his heart, could not sleep. He reached over and pinched Bajie's leg. The Idiot jerked his foot away and grumbled: "Sleep, will you? We're worn out — what sort of heart goes pinching hands and feet for fun?" Pilgrim played his trick: "Our stake was five thousand ounces. We sold the first horses for three thousand; there are four thousand ounces in our two saddlebags now; this herd will fetch another three thousand — capital and profit both. Enough, enough." Bajie wanted only to sleep, and barely answered.

Who knew that the waiters, the water carriers, and the stoker of this inn had long been in league with robbers? Hearing Pilgrim talk of so much silver, they sent a few men slipping out, who joined up with more than twenty thieves. Brandishing torches and clubs they came to rob the horse traders, bursting in through the door. Widow Zhao and her daughter, terrified, shut their room door trembling and let them do as they pleased outside. The thieves did not want the inn's goods; they hunted guests. Upstairs they found no one. Torch in hand they looked all around and saw in the courtyard one great chest, a white horse tied at its foot, the lid locked fast, not to be turned over. The thieves said: "Men of the roads all have sharp eyes. Look how heavy this chest — travel bags and silver must be locked inside. Let's steal the horse, carry the chest out of the city, break it open and share it. Isn't that better?" They really did find ropes and poles, hoisted the chest, and went off swaying under it. Bajie woke: "Brother, sleep — what's all this rocking?" Pilgrim said: "Not a word. No one is rocking us." Tripitaka and Sha Monk suddenly woke too: "Who is carrying us?" Pilgrim said: "No shouting, no shouting. Let them carry. If they carry us clear to the Western Heaven, we save the walking."

The thieves, having made their haul, went not west but east across the city, killed the gate guard, forced the gate, and got out. The alarm at once roused the fire-watch men of every shop across the six streets and three markets, and word went to the commanding general who patrols the city and to the Eastern City garrison office. The general and the garrison, finding it their own business, mustered men and archers at once and rode out after the thieves. The thieves, seeing the power of the government troops, dared not fight. They dropped the great chest, abandoned the white horse, and scattered into the wilds. The troops took not half a robber but recovered the chest and seized the horse, and returned in triumph. Under the lamplight the general looked at the horse. What a horse:

Its mane parts like silver thread; its tail sweeps like a jade ribbon.What of the eight steeds or dragon colts of story? It outdoes Su Shuang and the steady-paced Kuanduan.Its bone would buy a thousand gold; it chases the wind ten thousand li.Climbing the hills it melts into the blue clouds; neighing at the moon it is even as white snow spread smooth.Truly a flood dragon gone from its island in the sea — the world rejoices in a jade qilin.

The commanding general left his own horse and rode the white one himself, led the troops back into the city, had the chest carried to his headquarters, sealed it with the garrison office under a written cover, and set men to guard it until daybreak, when it would be reported to the throne for decision. The troops dispersed. Of that no more.

Now the Tang elder, inside the chest, blamed Pilgrim: "You monkey, you've done me in! If we were outside and got caught and handed to the Law-Destroying king, there'd still be room to argue. But now, locked in a chest, stolen by thieves, then taken by the soldiers — tomorrow before the king it will be a ready-made execution. Won't that just complete his ten thousand?" Pilgrim said: "If someone outside opened this chest and pulled us out, we'd be bound or strung up. Bear it a little, and skip the ropes and the gibbet. Tomorrow, face to face with that benighted king, old Sun will have his answers, and you won't be hurt a hair. Now sleep easy."

Toward the third watch Pilgrim played a trick. He slid out his staff, blew a breath of magic air, and cried: "Change!" It became a three-pointed auger. Two or three turns at the foot of the chest bored a hole. He took in the auger, shook his body, changed into a little ant, and crawled out. He showed his true form, mounted the clouds, and went straight to the gate of the royal palace. The king lay fast asleep. Pilgrim worked the magic art of the Great Divided Body, Universal Assembly: he plucked the fine hairs from his left arm, blew a breath of magic air, cried "Change!" — and they all became little Pilgrims. He plucked the hairs of his right arm, blew a breath, cried "Change!" — and they all became drowse-bugs. He spoke the true word "om," and had the local earth god lead the little host to spread through the palace courts, the five armies and six ministries, and the homes of officials great and small of every office. To everyone who held rank or office they gave a drowse-bug, so that all slept sound and none could turn over. Then he took the gold-banded staff in hand, weighed it, waved it, and called: "Treasure, change!" It became hundreds upon hundreds of razor-shaving knives. He took one, ordered each little Pilgrim to take one, and they all went through the palace courts, the five armies and six ministries, and every government office, shaving heads. Ah! This was truly:

The law king destroys the Law, yet the Law is without end; the Law runs through heaven and earth, and the great Way passes through.The ten thousand laws have their root in one body; the wondrous forms of the three vehicles were always the same.He bored through the jade chest and spread the news; he scattered his golden hairs to break the dark fog of delusion.Rest assured the law king will win true fruit: unborn, unending, coming and going, all empty.

By midnight the shaving was done. He spoke the spell, dismissed the earth god and spirits, shook his body, and the hairs of both arms went home. He rolled all the razors back into their true form — still it knew its own nature, one gold-banded staff — shrank it small, and hid it in his ear. He turned back into an ant, crawled into the chest, showed his true form, and stayed there keeping the Tang monk company in his confinement. Of that no more.

Now in the palace courts, the palace maids rose before dawn to comb and wash — every one of them without hair. The eunuchs great and small who served within had also lost their hair. They crowded together outside the sleeping palace, made music to wake the king, every one with tears held back, not daring to speak. Soon the empress of the three palaces woke — she too had no hair. She hastily brought a lamp to the dragon bed, and there, in the brocade covers, slept a monk. The empress could not keep the words back, and the cry woke the king. The king's eyes flew open. Seeing the empress's bare head, he scrambled up: "My empress, how has this happened to you?" The empress said: "My lord, it has happened to you too." The emperor felt his head and was so terrified that his three corpses groaned and his seven souls flew into the sky. He cried: "What has become of me?" In the midst of the panic the consorts of the six courts, the maids, and the eunuchs great and small all knelt with bare heads and said: "My lord, we have all been made monks." The king wept as he looked at them: "It must be for the monks I have killed..." Then he passed his order: "None of you is to breathe a word about the shaved heads, for fear the civil and military ministers blame the state for its misrule. Let all come to court at once."

Now the officers of the five armies and six ministries and all the officials of every office, great and small, were due at the palace before dawn to pay their respects. Every one of them too had lost his hair that midnight. Each wrote a memorial reporting the matter. And then was heard:

The whip of silence cracks three times before the emperor; memorial after memorial tells the present king the cause of the shaving.

What became of the stolen chest the general recovered, and how fared the four lives of the Tang monk's band? Listen to the next chapter to find out.